


Sleepless in Skyhold

by Lost_gallifrey



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Illnesses, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, confused Cole, melodramatic Dorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3700229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_gallifrey/pseuds/Lost_gallifrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Cole is dying of the blight, The Iron Bull is oblivious, Dorian just wants to sleep......</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepless in Skyhold

Since the moment that Dorian had moved from the minimal luxury of his own quarters to the sparse barbarity of Iron Bull's room, good sleep had been nothing but a fleeting memory.

From the unceasing revelry and carousing that went on under the floorboards, to the fact that Bull snored like a bronto with a sinus cold; gone were the days of waking, languid and well rested. Instead, it was the age of being prodded awake for inventive sex at bizarre, inhuman hours and being rolled on by a snoring slab of muscle. And now, apparently, it was the age of being poked determinedly in the forehead.

Dorian tried to tug the quilt higher to stop the poking, but as usual, Bull had managed to wrap it around one massive thigh. No matter how many blankets and quilts Dorian layered on the bed, they all wound up within the Qunari's grasp before daybreak. It was like even the bedclothes wanted to join the Qun.

The poking still hadn't stopped, and with a resigned sigh, Dorian opened one eye. Cole was hunched on the floor next to the bed, his chin resting on the mattress and a forefinger about an inch from Dorian's face. He looked, if it were possible, more ragged and woebegone than usual. 

“Cole!” Dorian hissed, pausing as Bull let out a 'snoooork' that interrupted any possible conversation. “It's the middle of the night!”

“I...I'm sorry.” And Cole really did look sorry. In fact, he'd sailed right on past 'sorry' into 'truly miserable' territory. “I had to wake you...”

“And what is so important it couldn't wait until morning?” 

“I'm dying.” Cole said simply, his voice rasping a bit as he picked shakily at one sleeve. “I have the blight.”

Generally, Dorian was a polite person. It was most likely the result of being raised in the upper echelons of the Tevinter court. Whatever the reason, he tried to conduct himself with some manner of civil decorum. A gentleman, in this situation would have asked 'beg pardon' or 'could you repeat that, please'....instead, Dorian barked 'WHAT?!' in a voice that would have done a drill Sargent proud.

Surprisingly, Iron Bull didn't even wake up. Instead he made a descending bass kind of 'wheeee' noise, like a very masculine nug being thrown off a cliff. Slowly.

“The blight...” Cole reiterated, and to Dorian's growing alarm he listed slightly to the side in a slow slump. In fact he didn't look right at all, paler than usual and decidedly peaky. “I got it in Crestwood when I fell in the water”

Dorian elbowed Bull as hard as he could in the gut. If he had to deal with this in the middle of the night, then so did the Qunari. 

“Everyone got soaked through in that miserable little hovel, Cole. And nobody else got sick. You don't have the blight." 

Privately, Dorian suspected that Cole was more likely to have picked up a cold from wallowing through the Fallow Mire than he was from Crestwood. Ever since the spirit had embraced his more human nature he had managed to showcase a startlingly clumsy side. Oh, he was all deadly grace in a fight, it was the mundane, everyday movements he had problems with. Last week he'd fallen in the same creek on the Storm Coast three times, stairs had become a near deadly obstacle, and the kitchen staff had threatened to go on strike if he didn't stay out of their way. Dorian was starting to think maybe Cole had always been this way, but previously he could make people forget when he managed to fall UP the stairs in full view of a tavern full of drunken soldiers.

“I was hot.” Cole shivered, and Dorian noticed his patched clothing was plastered to his skin and shedding water all over the floor. “So I stood outside in the rain, it got quieter and now I'm cold, cold, cold.”

“Wh's goin' on?” The Iron Bull finally managed to join the realm of the waking. “You a'right, kid?” Bull peered blearily at Cole, fatigue turning to alarm. “You don't look alright.”

“Hello, The Iron bull. I'm sorry to wake you up, but I'm dying of the blight.” Cole looked mournfully up from the floor, eyes a bit glazed through his mop of sodden hair. “You should drown me in a lake. Other people shouldn't die too.”

Dorian sighed and looked at the ceiling in the vague hope that his patience and sanity might be lurking up there somewhere. Bull was looking stricken, his fists clenching hopelessly as if the imaginary blight was something he could pummel into submission.

“Don't worry.” Dorian patted Bull consolingly on the shoulder, the Qunari really was a mother hen. “I suspect the spirit of pessimism here just caught the flu.”

I don't want it.” Cole coughed, a low barking rasp that made Dorian wince. “I didn't mean to catch it. Can I let it go again?”

“Sorry, Kid, but no. It's all yours now.” Bull hauled himself out of bed and crouching to ruffle Cole's dripping hair with one huge hand. “Krem had this last week, so you probably got it from him. Here, put this on, it's too big but it's dry.”

“I remember. I tried to help. Cremisius didn't want to drink the potion.” 

Cole clumsily dragged his soaked shirt off over his head, tugging the ridiculously oversized garment Bull handed him on in its place. Dorian had to manfully stifle a chuckle at the sight. Cole looked like he was wearing a tent. Bull's shirt hung to his knees and there was enough fabric that Cole could have made three shirts out of it and still had leftovers.

“Yeah, that's Krem for you.” Bull helped Cole struggle out of the rest of his drenched clothing, wrapping one of the quilts around him. “He's damned good in a fight, but he gets really whiny when he's sick.”

Obviously sensing that Cole wasn't going to move voluntarily, Bull scooped him up in a tangle of oversized clothing and quilts and deposited him in the middle of the bed. Cole whimpered at the movement, squeezing his eyes shut and curling up against Dorian's shoulder. “The room is moving,” he said in a small voice, and to Dorian's horror, started to cry. 

“Hey, it's alright. None of that. ” Cole's skin was far too hot under Dorian's fingers as he wiped tears from his cheek. “You're just sick, give it a day or two and you'll be feeling fine. You can go back to poking into people's heads, being inappropriate and ….whatever else it is you do.” 

“It was different with Cremisius.” Cole sniffled, dragging the quilt up almost over his head like some sort of woven snail. “I could see the hurt. Like a knot to unpick, little threads that made him feel better when they unraveled. My head is too loud, I can't see a knot. But I'm unraveling. I feel wrong. I'm sorry Dorian and The Iron Bull, I'm bad at this.”

“Nobody's 'good' at being sick.” Bull patted Cole awkwardly on the back. Dorian knew the big soggy Qunari hated seeing anyone cry, but he also got uncomfortable whenever Cole brought up his 'weird ass, creepy spirit bullshit'. “I'll make you a Chargers cure in the morning, it'll fix you right up and put hair on your chest.”

Dorian fixed Bull with a glare that suggested he would do no such thing. The last thing Cole needed was to be fed some rotgut infused tonic that was probably more than half brandy. Dorian reminded himself to go see the healer in the morning, chances are he would have some compound that would help.

Bull was asleep again almost immediately, as if having a feverish former spirit in their bed was a completely normal occurrence. He'd slung one arm over the blanket cocooned Cole, fingers resting on Dorian's stomach. It was a strangely comfortable moment, provided Dorian didn't think about it too hard.

“He cares.” Cole's voice was a sleepy rasp against Dorian's shoulder. “He laughs, bright and loud. Calls you 'vint' so you'll look at him.”

“I thought your head was 'too loud' to go messing about in other people's minds.” Dorian said primly. Cole was radiating heat like a small, curled furnace next to him.

“I didn't have to.” Cole said cryptically. His hair was drying into ridiculous tufts that made him look like an embrium seed-head. “Thank you, Dorian. I'm sorry I woke you up.”

“Don't be.” Dorian had to admit that while a good nights sleep wouldn't have gone amiss, he was oddly flattered that of everyone in Skyhold, Cole had come to him for help. “Anytime.”


End file.
